


In the Way it Hurts

by CountlessUntruths (KaliCephirot)



Category: Half Life Trilogy - Sally Green
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cheating, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, breaking up, breaking up sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 20:23:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5262233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaliCephirot/pseuds/CountlessUntruths
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cora knows what she has to do. She wonders just how ruthless, how vicious you have to make yourself, the first time you eat a heart? It must be similar, she thinks, when you're about to break one (two) hearts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Way it Hurts

"But I don't want to stay with Gran!"

Her mother huffs, but she's busy already cooing at Arran, and asking Deborah if she wants cookies with her tea. Jessica, however, keeps her arms crossed in front of her, glaring as fiercely as she knows how, looking very much like Dean. All of her children take after her mostly, but, when she frowns like that, she is undoubtedy Dean's daughter. And it's a good thing, for Cora, to remember that.

"Sweetheart, I told you why. I need to finish some potions and it's going to take me all night."

"So Debs and Arran can stay! I'm not a baby, I wanna be at home when dad comes back."

For a moment she feels nervous, before remembering that this has been what Jessica has asked every day for the two weeks that Dean has been away. The last phonecall they got from him said that it was likely that he'd have to stay at least another week, something that Jessica knows but still, wishes to shorten it.

Cora smiles as sweetly, as tenderly as she knows how, kneeling so she can fix Jessica's too straight hair.

"I'll come home tomorrow early for you, and after breakfast we'll go back home. You can help me with the garden, if you want to, and we'll make your dad's favorite cookies. And tonight you can be the big sister and help Gran take care of your baby brother and sister. How does that sound?"

Jessica pouts. "Promise we'll make dad's cookies?"

Cora smiles, hugs her tight. "Promise."

"Go on now, Jessica, the tellie's on already," her mother says. Jessica still pouts, but she nods and walks inside, and through the window Cora sees her sit down besides Deborah. With the children inside, her mother's smile drops and Cora sighs.

"Don't start now, mother."

"Oh, I'm not starting anything," Elsie says. "You know what I think of this."

"It's going to be the last time," Cora says, smiling a close-lipped smile at a neighbor while they build their bonfire. Jessica was ever so upset that Dean wasn’t home for this, but the past few news from the Council has made Cora hate what the bonfires represent, so she's viciously glad that he's not there.

Her mother hugs her and kisses her forehead, the way she used to do when she was a little girl, and when she looks at her, her mother looks sad for her, not angry at all. "Now, how many times have I heard that?"

**

When the sun sets, she turns off the lightbulbs and instead lights up the candles and the old oil lamp and the Nightsmoke, letting the green smoke curl all over her living room, but she doesn't stop to consider it and instead keeps on with the cleaning before packing. She's making three big piles that she needs to sort through: taking with her and the kids, leaving for Dean, throwing away and it's harder than she thought to. Pictures can be made copies, but what of Jessica's last math test where she aced it? Or Deborah's drawings? What about the first pair of baby shoes she has for each of her children which she has kept? Cora tries to be as methodical about it as she can because moving away with three children is going to be hard enough, no need to carry with them everything, even if that is pretty much a metaphor for her life.

When the keetle starts whistling she goes to the kitchen to turn it off, She leaves picks up one of the candles to go to the kitchen and get her tea ready. When she comes back, Marcus is already there, smartly dressed in a suit - better than she on her dusty jeans and faded The Clash t-shirt - holding a picture frame in his hands, his expression thoughtful.

"... Marcus."

"The second one looks just like you," he says softly, warmly.

Cora's stomach twists. She puts her tea cup down and goes towards him, takes back the picture of her children, not really looking at the happy faces of her babies.

"All of them look like me. Dean swears they're really tiny clones," she feels herself wince. They never do this, never talk about her children, her family.

"Only the second one looks like a 'clone' of you," Marcus says, his voice still soft, not touching her yet. "The baby, I believe, will take after your father. The oldest one is completely Byrn's."

"Thank you, I guess," Cora puts the picture down with the rest of them, picking back the box of undecided stuff.

"Am I interrupting, perhaps?" and he sounds amused. Cora's stomach - and heart - twists again, but she doesn't allow herself to look at him, knowing that she'd crumble if she does. She wonders just how ruthless, how vicious you have to make yourself, the first time you eat a heart? It must be similar, she thinks, when you're about to break one (two) hearts.

"I... yes, a little," she admits, picking up the picture again - a holiday picture, because if you live enough with fains, you end up semi adopting some costumes, at least enough for pictures, and puts it on the 'Dean' pile. "I'm leaving Dean."

She doesn't stop, doesn't pause to turn and look at Marcus expression, doesn't want to see the surprise. She doesn't want to wonder if there'll be hope because Cora would rather simply not know. She tries to strengthen her heart, her decision, tries to make her heart ice cold, frozen and unmoving.

"I'm taking my children and leaving England. I don't think this is the proper place to raise them anymore. I'm asking Dean for the divorce as soon as he comes back, and we'll be leaving soon."

"... I see," Marcus gets close to her and Cora turns away from him. She doesn't want him near and she doesn't want to look at him, not now, not again, not ever. "I think it's a good decision. There are plenty of places less barbaric than England. I happen to know quite a few, if you want my opinion?"

And here it is. Cold, she thinks to herself. Cold and unforgiving.

"I don't want it, Marcus," she takes a deep breath, looking at him. "I already know where I'm going, but I'm not going to tell you. It's over."

Everything inside her tells her to run away, but Cora tells that part of her to screw itself and she stays there. Marcus looks at her, and for the first time in forever, she can't read him at all.

"Over," he frowns. "What brought on this, Cora?"

"A family murdered a month ago. Rings any bells?" she shakes her head. "I'm tired of this."

"You have always known what this involved."

"Yes, and I don't want it anymore. I don't want you anymore, Marcus. I'm done."

"I don't believe you," Marcus says, getting closer. It's funny, but she has never been scared of him. Dean's explosive temper has worried her more, during their fights, than over all the years she has known Marcus.

Even know, with his dark eyes unreadable to her, in presence of the most dangerous Black Witch in England, maybe the world, Cora isn't afraid at all.

"I have three children to look after, Marcus. I can't keep putting them at risk by meeting with you," and she uses her triumph card, the one thing Marcus will not forgive her for. "Me and my children are White Witches, Marcus. We should be _safe_ and without worries. We have no reason why to get involved with the likes of you."

There's a terrible, terrible silences after that. Cora clenches her hands into fists, feels ashes, knowing what she said, what it meant. She takes a deep breath, walks by Marcus side to pick up a basket full of baby clothes that she has to give away. "You should leave. Now."

When Marcus laughs, Cora feels her heart break again.

"Of course. Of course, I should leave," he scoffs and she tells herself that this is what she wanted, that she isn't allowed to hurt at how cold his voice sounds, not even when a stubborn part of herself whispers that in all the years they've known each other, he has never sounded that way, not with her. "Well played, White Witch. Your husband has taught you well. You attacked the blind spot perfectly. Be proud."

"Go away, Marcus," she says again.

"Don't worry, I'll go now, so you may have your perfect White Witch little family. You might even consider getting a dog. I would hate if 'the likes of me' made that difficult, how terrible would that be," Marcus says. His anger has always been ice cold, the fury in his eyes a winter, frozen land. Dean explodes when he's angry, throwing things, breaking things, making threats. Marcus' fury is made of ice and winter. "Why do you even bother leaving him, I wonder? The mother, the hunter, and the little children, telling tales of murdered Black Witches."

And Cora knows she planned this, that she thought of each and every way she could injure Marcus pride to make him want to stop this, knowing what it would do, what it would cost, but in all her meticulous planning she forgot _her_ pride and she screams.

"Because every time he touches me I picture him killing you." She drops the basket, covers her mouth with her hands. "Just... just go, Marcus."

But he approaches and she's not afraid, not afraid at all except for the fact that Cora is sure that she's about to break down and cry.

Marcus' hand on her face is whisper-soft, rough callused fingers cupping her face. When Marcus speaks again, it's his voice again, the one she knows, warm and soft and just for her and she can't stop herself from shaking. "Tell me again, and I'll go. You'll never see me again. I promise you."

And she tries. She tries because she knows it's the best-- because she wasn't lying, she has to think of her children, and she knows what the Council will do to her, if they find out about this, what they might do to her children, she knows that what she has to say, and yet--

"... I can't, I can't-- Marcus, I _can't_!" And that simple word is a world unto itself of every single hope and dream that's been broken and stomped over and over again and despite herself and her resolutions, Cora finds herself sobbing, hands against her mouth to try and stop her sobbing.

"Cora..." Marcus arms go tight around her and stop her from falling, and Cora clings to him, bites his shoulder, hits his back with trembling fists before she simply clings to him.

"I love you! I love you, Marcus, I love you, oh god..."

The kiss comes like an attack, hard and demanding, desperately hard, hungry, needy. Cora shudders and kisses Marcus back just as hard, her hands tight on his shoulders and the need that surges through her feels like fire, leaving her breathless, hands clumsy when they pull apart. They both push down her jeans around her knees, their hands bumping against each other to open his belt, his trousers, and then Marcus is turning her around, against the wall, and pushing inside of her, saying her name as if it hurt him.

Each and every single, treasured time it has been that, a moment that has been made as if to last forever, every kiss, every touch as slow and tender as they each know how to make them. She doesn't ask about other lovers Marcus might have, and Marcus doesn't ask about her husband, her children, her life. Each time they have been together, they have tried their hardest to pretend that there is no-one else in the world but them, that nothing matters but their love, as if they could take their time and the world would just stop and let them be in love.

Now, Cora feels Marcus teeth biting the back of her neck, his arm tight around her waist, his hips snapping tight and close against hers. Cora twists as much as she can to kiss him again, gasping against his mouth, sobbing a moan when Marcus' other hand falls against her sex, his thumb rubbing at her clit and she trembles against him, presses her hands against the wall to thrust back against him and she comes with a scream of his name. She's still gasping and shivering from her orgasm when Marcus bites her shoulder again (she doesn't heal it, wonders just how long can she keep that mark, if it heals as a Fain's bruise would) before he comes, half collapsing against her, both of them still against the wall.

But then, Marcus stays there, moving to simply hold her, arms tight around her.

"I know I have to let you go," Marcus whispers, against her neck. "I know it's the best for you. I know that. I've know it... forever, probably."

The 'but I can't' he doesn't say out loud comes through the slight shivering from his shaking arms. Cora blinks fast, trying to stop her tears, to shield her heart and she twists in his arms still to face him.

"Tonight," she tells him, not allowing herself to see the loss in his eyes. "We have tonight, and then... then it's over, Marcus. It has to be."

Cora kisses him before Marcus can say anything else and when he shudders, she tells herself it's need and not sorrow, that the tears she's tasting are only hers.

Neither of them hears the door opening until it's too late.


End file.
